


Gardens of Colours

by WahlBuilder



Category: The Technomancer (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Worldbuilding, standing and talking, twenty headcanons in a trench coat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22416268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: There are several gardens in Noctis and in the Palace itself, and Noctians are rightfully proud of them. Phobos tries to visit them as often as possible.
Relationships: Phobos (The Technomancer) & Dandolo | Merchant Prince
Kudos: 3
Collections: Hello Earth? This Is Mars...





	Gardens of Colours

Phobos can never tell what their Labyrinthian neighbours are proud of more: their sandsail fleet, their Palace—or the Palatial gardens. It’s probably all those things at once, though it might be more accurately described as different _kinds_ of pride: the pride in their skills—for the fleet, the pride of their city, of its long history and values—in the Palace.

The gardens are a more private kind of pride.

They are the jewel of the Palace, of Noctis, hidden not because they are a secret, but simply for the fact that it is difficult to find one’s way to them if you are not guided by a Noctian.

Phobos tries to come to one of the gardens every time he’s in Noctis, and now that he travels so much with Zachariah, he has the opportunity to visit the hidden city often.

The Valley has gardens and orchards, too. Seeds and saplings are brought from all over Mars with newcomers. Most of the plants are ‘useful’ plants, just by the nature of where they come from: farms that use slave labour, garden patches near factories—their purpose being production of food or raw materials to be converted into textile or fuel. Most of decorative plants, in contrast, have been found in the crater housing the Valley.

Noctis has several gardens and orchards. Phobos has been to five so far. It is a curious mix. Two are dedicated entirely to Martian plants, the ones that are a familiar sight in the Valley—but arranged in a slightly unfamiliar way. One garden is a combination of Martian and Earthian plants modified by the Colonists ages ago and further experimented on by the resourceful Noctians and their Valleian comrades. Yet another garden is filled fully with such modified Earthian plants: chicory, desert almonds with their sweet aroma, small red oranges, bitter on the tongue, energising to the nose and joyful to the eyes…

And another garden. Out of those Phobos knows, it is the smallest—just the size of the Prince’s balcony. It is contained in the heart of the Palace—but one hardly would notice that the chamber is cut into the rock. It is surrounded by glass, or rather a glass-like material; sunlight is diverted to it through a system of collectors, reflectors and other technical paraphernalia. Powerful generators—truly a priceless relic of the Colonist times—keep the gravity stronger here than generally on Mars.

The gravitational pull of Earth.

Not only the gravity is different: the day is slightly shorter, too, and the change of seasons is misaligned with those around Noctis.

It is a self-contained system, it doesn’t require human hand except for the externalities: to make sure the solar panels connected to it are dusted off, and connectors are working properly.

It is a joy to the eye and the heart.

It is contained in a bigger room (Phobos heard that something similar is arranged in one of the Corporations), and there are benches around the glass greenhouse and a small artificial stream runs in a shallow gullet by the feet of the benches, round the greenhouse, delighting the ear with its musical song.

Ceramic tiles covering the walls of the outer room, white with a green plant pattern, reflect the light of the greenhouse. The walls used to be untiled hewn stone, but were covered with ceramic by the artisans from the Valley—a gift to the older sibling city.

It is not merely a vain indulgence. Researchers—Noctis’s own and those from other cities—come to study the flora and conditions of Earth. Poets come in search of nostalgic inspiration. Artists…

It is fitting of Noctis. To not forget where they come from—but to not get calcified in it. To look forward and find their own way. Flying with the wind, shifting with the sand.

‘ _Bona sera_ , ambassador!’

Phobos smiles, turning from the brilliant display. ‘ _Bona sera, Lahmu_. Forgive me for not paying you a visit immediately upon arrival. I was looking for… inspiration here.’

Outside, it is coming to dusk. Here, it is broad daylight, but not deadly. The grey in Dandolo’s braids is turned into silver.

Dandolo waves. ‘You may come and go as you please, Phobos, without notifying me. Noctis knows.’

It does.

‘How do you find the latest piece?’

Phobos turns his attention back to the greenhouse. ‘Magnificent.’

This is another reason why people come here.

The Valley works on ceramics. Noctis works with glass.

It is not something they do for sale: such pieces are rare to see in circulation, because if Noctians are not careful, questions of where and how they can afford to produce them would arise. They are not all practical either, and some of them are not even made to last, destined to be shattered and ground and melted and turned into something else after a while.

They are simply… beautiful. An exercise in skill, inventiveness and artistry, from ‘washed’ and engraved vases to ‘filigree’ pots to ‘knitted’ sculptures.

To adornments of the greenhouse.

Beautifying one’s items, filling one’s dwelling with beauty, just because, is such a human thing.

‘This technique is called “a thousand flowers”, am I right?’

‘You are correct, ambassador.’

He goes closer to the glass sculpture. It looks as though many-coloured glass has exploded around the greenhouse, or as though the greenhouse has been dropped into colourful sand that flew up in waves and lingered in the air. The light shines through many small dots and ‘petals’ and circles.

‘I see Nima’s hand here,’ he says, hoping appreciation is heard in his voice.

‘Ey will be happy to talk to you about it, ambassador,’ Dandolo replies.

Phobos turns his hand to the light and watches how colour plays on his skin, then looks up. ‘Do you think ey would accept a poem from me?’

Dandolo smiles. ‘I am sure ey would be honoured. Why don’t you come to the balcony, and I invite em to meet you there?’

He drops his hand, looks away, heat rushing up his neck. ‘I will be very much obliged, _Lahmu_.’

‘Or perhaps I should invite em here, so you could discuss eir work.’

‘Now you are teasing me, Prince Dandolo.’

Dandolo laughs. ‘I admit, I am, just a little. But an artist is ever grateful for appreciation.’

Phobos looks at the splendid art piece. ‘Yes. And one should never be afraid to voice their admiration.’


End file.
